An Independent Woman Read Free

“Barbara!”
    Barbara stirred, turned over, and sat up, her face tear stained, her eyes bloodshot, her hair in a tangle. Rushing to her side, Eloise embraced her, and for a minute or so, the two women clung to each other.
    â€œWhat time is it?” Barbara managed to say.
    â€œAlmost two.” Eloise went to the window and drew back the drapes. Sunlight poured into the room.
    â€œTwo o’clock,” Barbara whispered. “How did you know?”
    â€œIt was on the radio. I drove here as soon as I could. Are you all right?”
    â€œAs all right as I’ll ever be, I suppose. I need a shower, Ellie. I have to get dressed.”
    â€œI’ll make some breakfast. You have to eat.”
    â€œJust coffee.”
    â€œNo, no.” Eloise wouldn’t have that. They had the closeness of partners in pain. She went to the kitchen and fixed bacon and eggs and brewed fresh coffee. She recalled a weekend that Barbara and Carson had spent at the winery, and the walk the three of them had taken up the long slope to the top of the hill that overlooked Highgate, the long rows of vines stretching down beneath them, and the old, ivy-covered stone buildings of the winery nestling under red tile roofs. Carson was almost ecstatic that afternoon, bemoaning the fate that had tied him to a newspaper rather than to a winery and telling the girls that this is where he was meant to be and live; and certainly he could have done so if ever he’d had the strength to break loose from his family. He and Barbara had been married a few months before, and already their union was fraying at the edges. Yet Eloise remembered what a splendid pair they were— Carson, the Olympic athlete, with his tall, well-tuned body and his thatch of blond hair; and Barbara, long limbed and free striding, five feet, eight inches—the two of them dwarfing Eloise’s five feet, three inches, Eloise being a round, gentle little woman who almost had to run to keep up with them. They had been so full of youth and confidence and strength; and now Eloise’s hair was white, and Barbara’s hair was almost white, and death had come to her again.
    Barbara, dressed in old jeans and a brown shirt, looked at the platter of eggs and bacon and buttered toast in dismay. “Dear Ellie, I can’t eat. I’ll have some coffee.”
    â€œAll right. And then perhaps you’ll eat something.” She poured coffee for both of them. “And you must come home with me and stay in the Valley with us. It will be good for you. You’ll be surrounded with people, and they’ll bother you to confusion and take your mind off everything, and the children will be delighted because Aunt Barbara is there…”
    Barbara was now munching the toast, carried away on Eloise’s river of words.
    â€œAdam and Freddie are battling away like cats and dogs—”
    â€œFreddie and Adam? I don’t believe it.”
    â€œOh yes. You know, Freddie takes off every winter for the wineries of Europe, and this time he brought back a case of Imperial Tokay, from the gardens that once belonged to the emperor Franz Joseph. It tastes like elixir of the gods, and he brought a bag of seed. He paid a thousand dollars for the case and another thousand for the seed, and he had to bribe all sorts of people to smuggle them out—which, you know, is typical of Freddie—and Adam says we can’t grow it in the Valley and that every California Tokay he’s tasted tastes like—well, I won’t use the word—and anyway Adam hates sweet wine, and Freddie brought in the argument that when Jake and Clair bought the winery for a song in 1920, the only business they had was sacramental wine for the Jews and the Catholics and the Episcopalians—and it just went on, and for two days they didn’t speak to each other—”
    In spite of herself, Barbara was caught up in Eloise’s outpouring of family gossip.